


Red Roses, White Roses.

by werewolve



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gardener Jaskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jaskier | Dandelion, Muteness, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolve/pseuds/werewolve
Summary: After the Djinn attacked Jaskier, he recovered- but not fully. His vocal cords severely damaged, he could no longer perform and had instead taken to living out in the country to (hopefully temporarily) retire.Geralt still visits him often, and on this newest occasion, brings with him a surprise.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 117





	Red Roses, White Roses.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic from when I first got into the Witcher late 2019, so it's not like my writing now, but it does follow the format of Geralt's book interactions.

The familiar sound of hooves was enough to draw the troubadour's attention- though he did not turn from his work. Instead, he sat more comfortably in the chair, deft hands stilled only by his focus on the needle as it drove through the cloth. He did not stir as the noise drew to a halt very near his home; as the gates were pushed open and a mare led through by a tall man carrying a large sack over his shoulder. He did smile, though it was to himself more than anybody else.

Geralt dropped the sack on the table across the yard, out of its opening spilling a few smaller bags of seeds, plants, and something foul-smelling that was incredibly useful for getting flowers to bloom early. Jaskier eyed it for a moment, and then cocked his head as a sign of his attention to his new- but not at all unfamiliar- guest for the day. Geralt smiled. 

‘It’s the usual, mostly,’ He gestured over his shoulder as he wandered towards Jaskier’s seat, eyeing the cloth in his hand. ‘What’s that?’

Jaskier hid the design from the witcher, creasing his brows and shaking his head lightly, before giving a breath and a smile at his own teasing. He placed the embroidery hoop down and shoved a pillow atop it to keep the gift hidden, before walking at a slightly faster pace than the other to wrap his arms around Geralt’s middle. Geralt returned the hug, eased by the hot breath against his chest. 

‘So you’re making me something?

> ‘No? Then it’s for somebody I know? Ciri? Ah. Well then why can’t I see it, it’s not like it’s going to ruin the surprise for me. And I can keep a secret well enough.
> 
> ‘I absolutely can!’

Geralt spoke with a gentle air to his voice, though it also had the same sense of teasing and gruffness as it always had, too. Jaskier pulled away to roll his eyes at him, before taking his hand to show him along to the flower beds- pointing out a particular patch of red roses, and then moving the pillow from where it sat. 

The witcher took the hints and drifted his gaze between reality and its embroidered counterpart. It was an almost perfect rendition, its only ‘imperfection’ in fact being quite the opposite, as Jaskier had purposefully added details to the art. Geralt hummed, more a content hum than his usual ones, and with a silent smile told Jaskier all he needed to know about how his gift would be received. After that, Jaskier seemed content enough that they’d seen his garden, and dragged Geralt instead towards the door of the cottage- propped open by a lute filled in with mud. He gestured for the White Wolf to sit, and Geralt obliged, Jaskier joining him only after putting a kettle of water onto the stove. 

‘Nothing of interest happened today, I’m afraid.

> ‘I met with your apprentice. He seems to be doing well, making himself a living. Though most of his critiques received from patrons are that he’s not yet to your standard. I know, I know. Who can expect him to be? That won’t stop people wishing he is. After that I went after another manticore- their numbers seem to have soared recently. I don’t know why. Either way the hunt went well, I received my coin, and after cashing in the remains of yet another kikimora I rode back here. 
> 
> ‘Well it’s as I said, nothing of interest happened. Although I did see something on the way here. Mhm, white roses. I’m not sure if they’re all that rare, you know far more about agriculture than I do, but I grabbed a few for the bag. I thought maybe you could grow your own. What? Don’t act like it’s so strange of me, I’ve given you gifts before.
> 
> ‘Yes, alright, flowers are a strange one, I’ll admit that.’

Geralt chuckled a genuine chuckle, and watched as once more the infamous bard rolled his eyes and turned to stand. He took the whistling pot from above the wood fire and set it down on the table before Geralt, who nodded and rummaged through his pocket for the small vial. Jaskier gave another breath, grabbed two small leather cups, and returned to his seat. 

‘You’re ready?’ The witcher popped the cork from the vial and poured a few drops into each leather holder. 

Jaskier, swallowing deeply and watching the action with clear intent, nodded. He opened his mouth as though to form a word, and then closed it again. Geralt gave a sad and sympathetic smile in his direction.

‘Don’t worry, save it for when I see you next.’ 

Pouring out the water between the two cups, Geralt watched as their tops gained a heavy mist. He lifted a cup for himself and handed the other to Jaskier, who waited for the signal to drink. A nod from Geralt was enough to confirm this, and they both swallowed the hot mixture in one breath. Afterwards, Jaskier coughed, already looking woozy as the magic began to take its effect. Geralt, fighting his own daze off for a moment, drew the Sign before himself and then pushed outwards- a security blanket to ensure neither of them fell into the trance for too long- letting his hand fall onto Jaskier’s knee as he did. 

‘Geralt?’ Jaskier’s voice was close, above him perhaps, ‘You old thing, wake up will you.’

He felt a shove to his shoulder, and then felt his back hit the floor in its entirety, and his eyes flew open near immediately. Above him (as he had suspected) Jaskier’s figure blocked out the sun and his expression was contorted in annoyance. Geralt merely smiled.

‘Jaskier.’

‘What? You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve ever heard my voice.’

‘It certainly feels like it.’

Jaskier couldn’t keep up his act anymore, a grin breaking his own features. The pair laughed, long and hard, and Geralt pushed himself to stand. Their surroundings stretched for miles, an endless meadow punctuated by the occasional tree or boulder. They walked side by side.

‘How long will we have this time?’ Jaskier asked quickly, clearly wanting to get the pain of the time limit out of the way early on. 

Geralt hummed, shaking his head, ‘I can’t say for sure. The dosage was stronger. At the very least we have two hours, at the most, we may have four.’

‘And the cure?’ The bard hadn’t asked about this for Geralt’s last seven visits. He supposed the question was bound to come soon.

‘Jaskier-’

‘I know. There mightn’t be a cure,’ He sighed, pushed a hand back through his chin-length hair, ‘And I loathe to admit I’ve grown used to the silence. They say it’s golden, there’s some truth in how much it costs- about the same as a world’s worth of gold.’ 

‘Yennefer is working hard. Others too. Everybody misses your ballads. There’s simply not enough knowledge on how this even happened- it’s only enough to guess that it was some lasting effect of the Djinn.

> ‘Even then, we can’t say for sure what has its hold on your vocal chords. It could be a growth, or some unknown magic, or it could be something else entirely. Something scientific and out of the realms of our knowledge.’ 

Jaskier stayed silent, despite having his voice back here. Geralt supposed there was little more to say on the subject. They walked like that for a while, brushing shoulders occasionally and taking in the picture-perfect environment around them. Birds flew overhead, and clouds passed slowly with the cool breeze that occasionally offered respite from the summer sun. In the distance, Geralt spotted a doe raise her head to look at them, before wandering off amongst the trees. This at the very least brought a smile out of Jaskier, who seemed to have noticed her too.

‘How is the garden coming along?’ Geralt finally asked.

Jaskier hummed, ‘Well, spring is in full bloom and so are the flowers. I harvest what I want to and sell them on to travellers that pass by, the others I leave to nature to keep alive. The cherry trees bear fruit, the bushes berries, and your bi-monthly deliveries have been keeping me going between sales.’

‘Then it’s going well,’ The witcher nodded. ‘I’m glad. You did say you’d make a good gardener if ever the need arose. I should have believed you.’ 

‘Yes, you should have.’

They met eyes again and laughed. Something they often did in this small realm of their own. Jaskier, feigning the concept of growing tired, pulled them to a stop beneath a large tree. Geralt sat beside him, and the bard immediately lay his head against the witcher’s shoulder. Acts of intimacy were something Jaskier had always treasured, and now more than ever Geralt felt wrong to refuse him the pleasure of them. Placing his own cheek atop his companion's hair, he closed his eyes against the sun’s rays and hummed. 

Jaskier took to his own humming, though in comparison to Geralt’s simplistic action his was far more musical. Here was the only place the bard could still compose, and Geralt bathed in the sweetness of his song. 

Lyrics always seemed to come so naturally to Jaskier, who had ballads about all and anything imaginable. Even in complete lack of inspiration, he could write whole songs simply on his imagination alone, and even now he managed to write chipper tales about adventures he had not been on. He sang of one of such adventures now, an enigmatic and yet cheerful piece of poetry about a dragon’s child lost in a forest. The witcher wondered if perhaps Jaskier saw himself in the reptile he sang of. 

‘Would you want to go somewhere?’ He interrupted.

Jaskier, fumbling for a moment for lack of expecting the sudden question, contorted his expression in his confusion, ‘We are somewhere, Geralt.’

‘No. Not here.

> ‘What if you could leave? Leave the cottage, even for a few days. I know you do anyway, but I mean really get away. Get back on the road. You could come on a hunt with me, ride alongside me again.’

‘I…’

Jaskier took a long moment, unable to form the words he searched for. Geralt looked on expectantly, reaching for and squeezing the old bard’s hand in reassurance. After a while, Jaskier merely gave a defeated sigh.

‘I can’t. It’d be too much.’ He groaned, ‘If this damned voice could return to me out there as it does in here all would be well, but without this, I’m little more than a saddle bag weighing you down on your trips. What’s the point of a bard who can’t perform? No. I’m better off remaining a gardener.’ 

Geralt said no more, instead, he retained his grip on one of Jaskier’s hands and then turned to grasp at the other. With calloused fingers, he pushed and shaped Jaskier’s hands to form signs and movements, and after he finished he lay them to rest again. 

‘What was that?’

‘Cirilla taught me it. A language expressed with your hands.’ Geralt cocked his head, ‘Those signs say ‘You’re a fool’, the first she ever expressed to me.’ 

‘Sign language? And to insult me no less?’

Geralt laughed, shaking his head, ‘I could teach you it. Ciri prefers to talk that way when she gets too emotional, it helps her quell her fears of her powers lashing out when she talks or yells. I’m near fluent by now. I could teach you, and you could use it to talk.’

‘Talk.’ Jaskier looked down at his hands, turning them and examining his palms as he pressed in his fingers the way Geralt had. ‘Out there?’

‘Yes.’ The witcher hummed, ‘From what Ciri tells me, most people know the language now. Those who don’t tend to pick it up fast when taught.’

‘I could… perform.’

‘You could.’ 

Jaskier’s hands began to shake in his lap, and all at once, Geralt realised he was crying. The bard’s shoulders grew hunched and his voice quietened to sobs and the stutter of breaths. Giving him a moment, the witcher watched as Jaskier used the back of one of his hands to wipe away the tears from his cheek, before turning fully to face the White Wolf in his regained sense of motivation. 

He shoved his hands out towards Geralt.

‘Teach me. We have at least an hour left.’ Jaskier looked determined, and yet a soft smile also curled his lips, ‘How do I say thank you?’


End file.
